


Cover It in Chocolate and a Miracle or Two

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: And Unwise Experiments, Brotp, But He is More Fun than Netflix, Caitlin's Just There to Make Sure He Lives Through the Night, Gen, Pre-ship, This Boy is Serious About His Sweet Tooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlin just wants a quiet night in. If only Cisco would stop texting her about his latest crazy plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover It in Chocolate and a Miracle or Two

**Author's Note:**

> wanderingxrivers speculated on whether Cisco might make his own lollipops. I say yes - yes, he would. Also? I have finally achieved the quick, silly, fluff story I’ve been trying to write for weeks. Thanks!

Just as Caitlin was pouring the wine, her phone buzzed with a text.

She ignored it. She’d had a very, very long day, over ten hours on her feet in new shoes and _when_ was she going to learn not to wear new shoes to work? She wiggled her aching toes in her fuzzy slippers. and sipped her wine. Mmm. Add several hours of TV and it was the perfect evening in.

Her phone buzzed again. She looked over at it, narrowing her eyes. She picked it up. Two texts from Cisco.

_Can I borrow a cup of sugar?_

_And by cup I mean pound.  
_

She bit her lip. She felt mean ignoring him, but once Cisco got going on a text conversation, it could last for hours. She dropped it back on the counter and headed for the couch. Netflix awaited her.

She flipped through her choices. Seen it, seen it, sick of it, no new episodes … her phone buzzed again. She rolled her head on the back of the couch and glared at it.

She sipped her wine again. It wasn’t that good, actually.

She got up and went to her phone.

_Also, is a candy thermometer an actual thing? Like a functional thermometer? Because they have candy cigarettes and bandaid bubblegum._

She gave in. **Yes, it’s an actual thing. It’s specifically for making candy. What do you need sugar and a candy thermometer for?**

_Lollipops._

She read it again. It didn’t make any more sense the second time. She called him.

“Hey,” he said. “The Stone Age is on the other line. They want their mode of communication back.”

“What do you mean, lollipops?”

“Okay, so, remember how the neighbor kids stole my candy?"

_A thousand lollipops, Caitlin!_ he'd crowed, clicking the button on the Chupa Chups website. _Right to my front door!_ And then a few days later - “Yes, your lamentations are still ringing in my ears.”

“Yeah, well, I ordered more, but there’s some kind of backup in delivery. Like, a strike somewhere? I don’t know. Anyway, I decided to make my own.”

“Of … course you did. That’s totally the next logical stop.”

“Look, it’s not like I’m going to go knocking on every door in my complex asking for my lollipops back. I mean, some of those kids are bigger than I am. It’s got to be beef hormones or something, don’t you think?”

“I meant you could go to the store and buy a bag of lollipops.”

“But they won’t be Chupa Chups.”

“Neither will yours.”

“Well, no, but I get to boil sugar to _lava temperatures_.” He added a little “woo-hoo!” as if she might be unclear on how exciting that was.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Have you done this before?”

“No, but I found a YouTube video.”

Of course he had. “What do you still need? Besides sugar and a candy thermometer.”

“Ummmm. Corn syrup. Flavor extracts. Maybe candy molds, but this video says I can use a pan of corn starch instead. Not too sure how that’s gonna work, I haven’t watched the whole thing …”

She traded her fuzzy slippers for flip flops and went rummaging in a drawer that she hadn’t opened in a couple of months. “Okay, fine. I have a candy thermometer, I’ll bring it.” She checked her pantry. “No sugar, though. So, meet me at the Albertson’s around the corner from you in ten minutes.”

“Whoa,” he protested. “Caitlin, you don’t have to help me.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “This sounds like something you’re going to want a medical professional on hand for.” She hung up before he could protest again, and went to turn off the TV and pour the wine down the sink. 

Somehow, risking third-degree burns with unwise confectionery experimentation sounded a lot more like the perfect night in.

FINIS


End file.
